


Exchanges

by EA_Lakambini



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: After Armageddon't, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gathering, Gen, Gift Exchange, Holidays, Jasmine Cottage (Good Omens), Just some happiness and good cheer all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EA_Lakambini/pseuds/EA_Lakambini
Summary: For the December holidays celebration this year, Anathema suggests playing a random gift exchange game to liven up the gathering. Considering the potential gift-givers include the Them, a retired medium and Witchfinder Sergeant, and an angel and a demon, it makes for quite a fun time all around in Jasmine Cottage.Written for the Scribbling Vaguely Downwards/Grow Better Holiday Swap 2020!(Yes, I literally wrote a gift exchange story for a gift exchange event)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21
Collections: Grow Better / Scribbling Vaguely Downwards - Holiday Swap '20





	Exchanges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elwyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyst/gifts).



> Prompt: Ineffable Holidays - each year somebody hosts the holiday party and all the humans who were there when the Apocalypse didn’t happen are invited, plus one angel and one demon who were always on the side of humanity. Call it Yule, Christmas, whatever you want - or a combination that fits, it’s about found family, togetherness, and where everyone’s journey has gone since the not-Apocalypse.
> 
> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> This is for the absolutely delightful [Elwyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwyst/pseuds/Elwyst)! My apologies that this took so long to be given to you. I think I started two or three different stories before finally penning this one. It was certainly an interesting prompt to work on, as I tend to do Aziraphale- or Crowley-centric stories, introspection-heavy and usually with a dosing of angst. I didn’t think that would be appropriate for an Ineffable Holiday, so thank you very much for getting me out of my comfort zone, and for pushing me to create something that warmed my heart very much in the writing. It’s just a short simple little thing, but I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you as well to the mods for making this event happen!

“What was it that Book Girl said? We have to bring _more_ presents?” Crowley exclaimed, incredulous.

“On the contrary, my dear, we actually need to bring less,” Aziraphale replied calmly, looking up from the letter sent by the occultist. In the years since Armageddon’t, Aziraphale had maintained contact with the young lady, who had chosen to remain with Newt in Jasmine Cottage, and had found her to be quite the interesting correspondence. And this year, as the chill air of December had crept forth, she had sent out an invitation for a little festive gathering.

Crowley walked over to Aziraphale’s side and looked over his shoulder to re-read the letter. “ _Mr. A.Z. Fell and Mr. Anthony Crowley_ \- really, angel, did you give her your business card? - _Newt and I wish to invite you to a non-denominational holiday celebration, to be held at Jasmine Cottage, this 23rd of December,”_ Crowley read aloud, biting back a huff of laughter at Anathema’s choice of words to describe the party. Aziraphale chuckled and handed the letter over to Crowley, before returning to his table in the bookshop’s back room.

“ _It will just be a simple gathering with our friends from that most memorable summer, with food and drink and maybe some fun and games,”_ Crowley continued. “ _To that end, may I request that you bring one (1) present? No need for anything specific or fancy, but simply something that you would like to give to another. We’ll play a game that will ensure that no one will go home empty-handed. We look forward to seeing you again. Anathema and Newt.”_

Crowley returned the letter to Aziraphale, where he found him putting the finishing touches on a neatly wrapped gift. It was somewhat soft, encased in shiny white paper, with a ribbon in gold and blue. “So you already have something picked out, angel?” Crowley asked, idly fiddling with the ends of the ribbon. “I didn’t have much time to go to the shops today, but I found this among my things and thought it would be _quite_ lovely,” Aziraphale replied, while playfully shooing away Crowley’s hands.

“Do you have time to get something, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. “The party is tomorrow, and it’s nearly eight in the evening, now; you may not have much opportunity if we’re leaving for Tadfield early to avoid the rush.” Crowley shrugged, a small smile gracing his sharp features. “Yes, I’ll have something ready, and don’t worry about getting to Tadfield on time, angel. I’m the one driving, remember?”

“Hard to forget,” Aziraphale replied teasingly. He carefully put aside the gift, and smiled up at the demon. “Let’s see what that dear Anathema has in mind for this party.”

*~*~*~*~*

It was altogether a pleasant party, indeed. Aziraphale and Crowley _did_ arrive on time, even with Crowley going less than 90 miles per hour on the way there. Welcoming them at the door of Jasmine Cottage had been Anathema and Newt: Newt in a thick green jumper with Christmas baubles - “well, my mum sent it over” - and Anathema in her usual, not following any particular December-timed holiday to dress up for. The Them had been building a rather fantastical snowman in the front yard, with Dog yipping at their heels, while Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell had remained in the kitchen to keep away from the chill (and, as per Sergeant Shadwell’s directions, to ensure that no unholy brews or suspicious foodstuffs were prepared - he permitted the Brussels sprouts, at least). 

The promised food and drink from the invite was quite scrumptious, by Aziraphale’s assessment. Yorkshire pudding, mince pies, the aforementioned Brussels sprouts, quite a tasty pot roast, and even a chocolatey Yule log were there for seconds and thirds. Wine and eggnog had been served and enjoyed by the “adults” - though the Them also snuck in a few sips of the milky drink, before concluding that it was another one of those oddities that the grown-ups made and it was infinitely inferior to hot chocolate. The trifle was received far better, perhaps because of the heaping amounts of cream and strawberries and sugar, sugar, sugar.

Considering the circumstances when they had all last been in one place together, it was really quite nice.

Anathema then stood up and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “So, did everyone bring a present?” Everyone in the room nodded, looking at her attentively (or as attentive as one could be when there are still desserts on the table). “I’ve got all our names in this bowl here,” she continued, gesturing to a little ceramic bowl sitting over by the kitchen sink. “So everyone will pull out a name - that’s the person who will first receive their present. We’ll start with one person who will show what they’ve brought, and who will be receiving it. Then that person will show what _they_ brought, and who will be receiving it, and so on. It’ll all come round and everyone will have a gift by the end of it, and then we can all have one chance to trade for another gift if we see something we like better during the exchange. Does that sound all right?”

Newt gave a thumbs-up, and Aziraphale and Crowley nodded at the same time (which Anathema found rather cute, really). “That’s quite a lovely set-up you’ve prepared, dear; no complaints from me,” Madame Tracy said pleasantly. Shadwell merely grunted his agreement. Adam piped up, “Sounds good, Anathema, but the way it works out you coulda just gotten half the group to pull out the other half’s names. Maybe shoulda just put in only half so there’s less paper wasted,” he concluded, and Anathema made a mental note to send over more _New Aquarians_ for her quite conscientious pupil. Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale looked over to Adam before vocalizing their agreement as well.

Newt brought over the ceramic bowl, which had quite a cheery pattern of ducks going round the rim. He began by pulling out a scrap of paper then passing the bowl on to Anathema, who did the same before passing the bowl on to Adam. And so it went until everyone had a scrap of paper. They looked at Anathema expectantly. “Well, I suppose we can start with… how about you, Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Aziraphale blinked, a startled expression on his face, then hurried to bring out his present. “Oh dear, I wish I didn’t wrap it up so, if I’d known I’d have to open it under time pressure,” he said, struggling a bit with the knot on the ribbon. Crowley discreetly snapped his fingers from behind his glass of wine, and the ribbon loosened and the adhesive holding together the wrapping was suddenly easier to prise off.

“I’ve brought this lovely scarf, quite genteel but still cozy,” Aziraphale said proudly, while pulling apart the wrappings to reveal the fabric, which had a distinct tartan pattern. “Part of my collection, and it will suit anyone as the design is _very_ stylish.” Newt actually nodded at this.

Aziraphale set the scarf on the table, and looked at the little scrap of paper in his hand. “Ah, Wensleydale!” Aziraphale announced cheerfully. The boy in question stood up at once, actually looking eager to receive his present. 

“I think that is quite nice and sensible, thank you,” Wensleydale said, looping the fabric around his neck; it really felt quite cozy, and comfortably warm, as though it had just been hung next to a cheerfully crackling fireplace, despite clearly having been kept only in wrapping paper. It could have been worn as a cravat perhaps, maybe during passionate discussions in a certain park, but it now looked quite at home settling under Wensleydale’s fair wavy hair. “Could be a scarf, yes, but it’s big enough tha’ it could be a cape too. And it’s lots nicer than the one my aunt got from my uncle. Before he died, I mean. Not that this means you’ll die, Mr. Fell,” he continued, oblivious to the sudden snort of amusement from Crowley.

Anathema nodded at Wensleydale, who went back to his seat to pull out a scuffed cardboard shoe box. “I hadn’t gotten in my pocket money for the week yet, but I brought here my Cosmic Megatron,” Wensleydale brought out the plastic action figure, whose head had been fixed back on with copious amounts of duct tape and school glue. “It won’t turn into a helicopter, but the laser bit still works if you jiggle the arm a bit.” He demonstrated, and the laser shone a feeble beam of light before flickering. “Looks like you get it, Mr. Newt,” Wensleydale concluded, handing over the action figure to the surprised and rather pleased man.

“Wow, thanks, Wensley; I wanted something like this back when I was twelve, but mum wouldn’t let me have anything with lasers after that thing I did with the Bakelite radio,” Newt said, a bit of boyish pride spilling into his voice - while the rest were left to discuss among themselves on what exactly happened to that radio (only Anathema knew, but she would never tell). Newt took advantage of the lull to nudge experimentally at the arm of the action figure, certain that plastic would be more forgiving to him than electronics. The laser’s diode tip sparked and burst in a small but colorful explosion. “Cor!” Adam exclaimed, looking quite excited (Newt did not share his enthusiasm).

Newt then took a look at his slip of paper, and suddenly paled. “I brought this plant,” he then said, putting down the action figure and then lifting a rather small and unassuming leafy thing in a plastic brown pot. “I meant to have it on my desk when I was a wage clerk, but I… didn’t have the opportunity to decorate. It happened to still be in the car when I headed over here last summer. I’ve tried growing it, but it doesn’t seem to like me much. Maybe someone with a green thumb could take it, ah, Mister… uhh, Crowley,” he finished, nervously looking over at the other man, who had an eyebrow raised in both interest and - was it challenge?

Crowley reached over and took the pot from Newt, then paused to awkwardly clap his shoulder (he assumed that this was the universal male language for “thanks, bro”). “Sure. I’ll take it. You won’t recognize it by next year,” Crowley said simply. He lifted the plant close to his face and appeared to be examining the little leaves, but Newt could have sworn he saw the stalk suddenly straighten up and quiver. But Crowley suddenly looked pleased, so Newt felt a bit more certain that his present was in capable hands.

Crowley reached into a dark cloth bag at his feet and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. “Uhh, yeah. So I brought some stars,” he announced, then rushed to clarify as he saw the skeptical looks on the other partygoers’ faces. “Those glow-in-the-dark ones, y’know? ‘Cause… they’re neat. Everyone likes stars,” Crowley pressed on, taking a quick swig of wine as though to fortify himself. “I included something so you can put them in constellations. You can make them special, yours. Maybe make them make sense,” he concluded. He purposefully ignored Aziraphale’s suddenly gentle look his way. He tossed the package onto Madame Tracy’s lap in a manner that was both artful and cool. “For you, Madame.” Here, he also ignored Shadwell's glare.

“Oh, how lovely, Mr. Crowley,” Madame Tracy exclaimed, opening the package and lifting one of the stars out. “I’ve not done my astrology bit in years, but these will look quite nice in the little bungalow.” She opened the booklet on constellations, and ran a finger down the descriptions and images. “Oh, Scorpio was one of my favorites before,” Madame Tracy murmured. “Such a long tail, and Antares shines so bright at its heart. Always a good omen when one sees it twinkling up there. Isn’t it pretty, love?” She smiled brightly as she showed the picture on the page to a curious Wensleydale, who was hanging over the arm of her chair, Aziraphale’s scarf falling across her knees as he looked closer.

“That was one of mine,” Crowley said softly, smiling a little before remembering himself and rearranging his features back to coolly observant. Anathema raised an eyebrow, but Crowley merely shrugged and waved a casual hand; Anathema wondered if she had imagined the tiny sparks of flame that seemed to alight from his fingers.

Madame Tracy gave the package a loving pat, and then reached behind her seat to pull out a small box. “It’s my turn now, yes.” She lifted the lid to reveal a stack of tarot cards. “I’m mostly retired now, so the poor things don’t see much use; my customers didn’t much like the Major Arcana, either. So, I hope you will like them more, er - ” she took a peek at her scrap of paper, “- Brian?”

“Ooh, yes, I’d like ‘em,” Brian said eagerly, extending chocolate-stained hands out to receive the box from Madame Tracy. He quickly rifled through the cards, pleased to recognize at least a fifth of them. As self-appointed occult expert of the Them, he could not afford to go soft in his knowledge, and _these_ would be worth at least two weeks’ worth of discussions in Hogback Wood, once the snow had melted and it was no longer too cold to sit there while eating ice cream. He lifted out a card and proudly described it - “that’s the Wheel of Fortune, that, but not the show on the telly; this is loads better ‘cause it means good luck or something, but just looks a bit odd with them funny-headed angels” - to Madame Tracy’s delight, Anathema’s amusement, and the Them’s general curiosity (and Aziraphale’s muffled protest at the angels bit).

Brian then reached under his seat, and unrolled a scroll of paper to reveal an old bullfighting poster. “It had my name on it, but I didn’t know who’d get it today, so I just wrote over it, and I think it looks more Spanish now.” In smudgy inked capitals over the print was scrawled _OLÉ!_ “See, I spelled it right this time, Adam,” he continued; Adam nodded in agreement. Spurred on by Adam’s approval, he marched over to where Shadwell was seated, nursing an eggnog. The man looked a bit dumbfounded at first, then reached out with grubby fingers to take the poster from grubbier hands.

“Aye, boy, this will look quite at home in me library of the Witchfinder Army,” Shadwell commented. His face brightened as he took in the details. “S’pose this man here coulda been a proper Witchfinder too, look at that pin he got there, and dinna ye know ‘olé’ meant ‘victory over evil’ back in the Spanish Inquisition? Good days when witches were aflame nearly five times inna week.” Crowley opened his mouth to correct him (it was actually almost three times in a week, as the other two times were just the humans getting ahead of themselves), then thought better of it, and let the Them pester a surprised Shadwell with questions about where the pins should have been stuck, what ‘Hastar la vista’ also meant, and if the Inquisitorial Guards _had_ to speak Spanish or just the basic words.

“Ah, Sergeant Shadwell, I believe it’s your turn to share a present?” Anathema spoke up, the moment the members of the Them paused to consider their next question. Shadwell shook his head as though to clear it of the confusion that had settled, then reached into his old overcoat to pull out a somewhat dusty pouch kept together with several leather straps. “This here is me old lock-picking kit,” Shadwell said solemnly, untying the cracked leather to reveal a set of rather fiddly-looking metal bits. “I’ve nae any more capers tha’ would need the likes of it now, but some ‘un young an’ smart an’ wif a fast set of legs for running could find it a handy thing to have in a tight spot.” He lifted one of the picks up to the light; it was slightly smudged with fingerprints but still gleamed in the soft light. With his other hand, he looked at his slip of paper. “This goes to you, then, Miz Pepper.”

“ _YES!_ ” Pepper crowed, jumping up in her excitement to take the pouch. “You _know_ I’m going to use it to get my stuff back from my sister’s room,” Pepper proclaimed, holding one of the picks aloft like a rather small baton. “She never returned that sword I made for when I was Head Torturer.” She examined the picks more closely, and noticed that one was the right size to also dislodge the floorboards in her sister’s room - so she could also certainly reclaim her previously stashed Sindy stable set, though she would never tell anyone so. “Ye made yer own sword? Hmm. Yer a diff’rent ‘un,” Shadwell said gruffly, but with a proud tone coloring his voice. (Perhaps Pepper _could_ tell this odd man about the stable set.)

Pepper placed the picks back in the pouch and tied it together carefully, almost with reverence. She then went back to her seat, and pulled out a kitchen knife from a slightly crumpled carrier bag. “I just took it from the kitchen, since my mother doesn’t need to use _all_ the things there, ‘specially not by herself,” she explained. ”My father helps to cook supper every day because our household is not one that will contribute to a male-dominated social hierarchy. So this one is for you… Anathema!”

With a smile, Anathema took and held up the knife, feeling its weight in her hand. “Quite well balanced, this knife,” she said happily. She then did a few twirls and stabs with it, before concluding, “It’s an excellent replacement for my old bread knife, and it’s got good reach too. Thank you, Pepper!” She winked at the stunned expression on the young girl’s face, while Newt cautiously hid away any other pointed implements within reach of the two women.

Anathema calmly tucked the knife at her belt, then walked over to the little sideboard and pulled out a torch. “This torch is quite useful for nighttime surveying, but I’m not doing much of that anymore; I find it increases the risk of vehicular accidents and strange encounters with bicycle repairmen,” Anathema continued, smiling slyly at Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s suddenly guilty expressions. “I reckon it will find better use with you, Adam.”

“Yep it will,” Adam replied, pleased to finally have his turn. He began switching the torch on and off, enjoying the way the beam of light flashed on ceiling and shelf and bemused face. “My parents took away my last one when they saw me reading under the covers; ‘snot fair considering they’re all about readin’ and studyin’ but they get mad if I do it after eight-thirty at night.”

“I could get it back for you, Adam, now that I got a lock unlockin’ kit,” Pepper said, eager to volunteer her service and her newfound tools. “Then y’could have _two_ torches, and that’s gotta be better.”

“Or - or, we could use it out in Hogback Wood; we can camp out there, an’ my scarf will make a good tent if we jus’ tie it across the branches,” Wensleydale jumped in. Not to be deterred, Brian also joined in the plans. “We could be using it for when we try seances and stuff. Like, we’ll keep the room dark by hiding under Wensley’s scarf and then I could summon ‘em with my new cards and then we’ll ask ‘em if they can switch on _both_ the torches because one is too easy. And -”

“We can try that _after,_ ” Adam said firmly, and the other three children quieted down as Adam stood up to bring a small paper bag to Aziraphale, who was the only one left without a present.

“I made a book,” Adam announced. At this, Aziraphale actually clapped his hands in delight. “Outdid myself on this one, y’know; it’s got _twelve_ pages and I drew _all_ the pictures. A proper _graphic novel_. And I signed the front, too, like how all the famous authors do.” He brought out some folded paper firmly held together with a mess of staples; the cover had a drawing of a boy and his dog, and the words “My Best Summer Ever” boldly written across the top.

Aziraphale beamed. “This is a unique piece, and quite a well-made one; thank you, Adam,” he said seriously, actually pulling on gloves before taking the book from Adam (yes, he kept the archivist gloves in his coat pocket at all times, as one never knew when one would encounter another collector’s item). Adam seemed to glow under the praise, and strode over to Aziraphale’s side to point out the pictures where he had used all 64 colors from his special Crayola set.

“So, now that everyone has revealed their presents, does anyone want to trade?” Anathema asked. She looked round the room for any raised hands, but everyone was examining old possessions made new, pleased expressions on their faces, voices alight with interest as receiver conversed with giver on their presents. Odd conversations they were, and yet Anathema was certain she had never felt closer to family ever since she had left America.

She decided not to ask again, and with a contented sigh, she sat down cross-legged on the floor, next to Newt carefully positioning his action figure under the direction of both Wensleydale and Aziraphale, and began to discuss with Pepper on the easiest and most practical way to keep knives sharp.

(It could actually be done by scraping the blade across the bottom of a coffee cup; Aziraphale would later regret his agreeing to the correctness of this information when Crowley would test all the kitchenette knives on the angel’s favorite winged mug two weeks later.)

*~*~*~*~*

“You didn’t do any miracles to get everyone the gift they wanted on the first try, did you, angel?” Crowley asked as they began the drive back to London.

“Not at all, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, smiling as he brought out Adam’s handmade book. He turned the slightly crinkled pages with a careful hand, treating it the way he would treat any first edition (and perhaps because it was). “I think it all just turned out rather ineffably well. I certainly don’t think I could have predicted such a lovely present.”

Amid images of a dog with bright eyes, rather shoddy airplanes, sleeping soldiers, and strange figures with motorcycles, there at the end, was one last and very large drawing (using all 64 Crayola colors). All in a row: three children and their bicycles, a woman in a brightly colored dress and brighter hair, a man with a gun that looked rather funnel-shaped, another woman in a long coat and a man beside her in a loose jacket, and there, right at the middle, was a boy, heroic-looking and with a beaming smile - with an angel at his right and a demon at his left, their wings extended to the sky.

“Quite a talented boy, the Antichrist,” Aziraphale commented. “I think he got our likenesses quite close.” Crowley peered at the picture, a small smile growing on his face. “Nah, I’m pretty sure my wings were still better-groomed than yours, angel.”

Crowley glanced at his rearview mirror, to see Anathema and Newt waving them goodbye, Madame Tracy smiling and Sergeant Shadwell almost-smiling, the Them shouting and laughing as they tried to throw snowballs at the Bentley’s wake (no snowball would stain the car; Crowley made sure of that). He allowed himself to laugh, and then settled for the companionable drive back with Aziraphale at his side.

The strangest of summers had brought them together, and the winter that followed drew them closer, in items from their individual lives now entwined to others, in the most wonderful way.

**Author's Note:**

> YESSSS I managed to keep it under the word count AND keep it non-angsty! #writerdevelopment
> 
> Also, I wasn’t sure if White Elephant or blind gift exchanges were a thing in Britain, but I’ve heard about it being done in other Western countries so I figured that it probably would be Anathema who would suggest such an activity.
> 
> Thanks for dropping by!


End file.
